Missing Limb
by evil-weeny
Summary: [Highschool AU] After a brawl, Al Mualim teaches Altair a lesson by having someone watch his actions and academic standing. The task falls on Malik's shoulders, and when he was supposed to change Altair, it was him Altair was changing. [Altair/Malik]


**CHAPTER ONE**

**Troublemaker/s**

It was a lovely mixture of colors, blending into what seemed to be a sea of hues. Malik was so sure he had seen this spectrum before. Was it during one of his art classes, when he had attempted to produce a tint from two colors and ended up mixing everything? Was it from an abstract painting he had passed by in a museum? It didn't matter, especially now that the colors seemed to have formed translucent circles with blurry edges. Oh this one he can identify: _bokkeh_, a photographic term his friend Shaun so happily taught him, along with many other things he didn't need to hear but the brit seemed to be persistent anyway. That irritating brunette. That irritating brunette and his glasses that conveniently reflect light whenever Hastings seems to want to hide his inner thoughts.

The colorful circles were converged for a while but proceeded to decrease in size and distanced from each other slowly now. And from the previously unseen background to this _bokkeh, _what seemed to be the color of the night surfaces. Malik could perhaps continue his contemplation, but then his ears started to pick up noises when he had almost forgotten to notice he had previously not been able to hear anything. What he thought was a simple display of colors that turned into lovely little circles of light was actually his vision slowly regaining its focus, he finally realized, and with his ears gradually picking up distinct sounds his mind slowly found the memory that will answer why he was such in a current state.

Those clamors sounded mostly human. And he was almost sure they were groans, and the rest of it were what seemed to be fists making contact with flesh. Some seemed to be bones breaking. And that's when he remembered…

… That he had passed out on the pavement in the midst of a battle. Malik would like to continue his backtracking of events but it was the time his senses chose to wake up, an intense headache suddenly washing over him. Right after which, the sensation of rain drops woke him from the daze as they landed on sensitive skin. His vision was now clear–clear enough for a man with a splitting headache–and what registered before him was the sight of lights reflected on the puddle, along with passing silhouettes of men fighting. He wondered how long he was passed out on the ground and was a little grateful he wasn't trampled on while he was before deciding to resist the migraine and get up, pressing his palms on either side of him. As the male pushed himself up, he caught a glimpse of what seemed to be another unconscious man inches from him. _Oh, right. _The passed out stranger was the first thing he saw from a distance as he got out from a convenience store, he recalled. He saw the man from across an alley that led to a parallel street from said store and, without hesitation, he darted straight to the scene with nothing but noble intentions in his mind, perhaps losing his purchase along the way. That was when after he had knelt beside the guy a strong force had hit him at the back of his head, sending him straight to the ground.

And from the sound of who he assumed were males brawling in the background, the poor knocked out teen must've taken quite a hit and Malik had unknowingly plunged himself in the middle of a gang war. _I need to get out of here._ The teen wiped away rainwater and wet locks that was beginning to cloud his vision before gathering his strength to get on his feet, trying not to mind how heavy he got with the wetness of his clothes and all. More of the scenario became available to his vision as he got up on, swaggering a bit. There were more conscious and unconscious men alike on the ground: some writhing in pain, clutching a broken arm or leg, and some passed out with blood quickly spreading on their garments.

_Those clothes… _Malik's eyes narrowed as he stood in an awkward pose as he tried to maintain balance, his arms slightly parted from his body on either side. He continued to watch the red spread like watercolor diffusing in water but he paid attention particularly at the white fabric being covered by the color. _Uniform. Highschool. _He took a few steps, making larger ones when he needed to avoid sprawled out limbs, and stopped to stand over the unconscious bleeding man he'd been watching. _Abstergo International High School._ And upon completing his phrased thoughts, he turned to look behind him and saw the continuing battle a couple of feet from where the defeated had been left. _Should I tell the headmaster about this?_ The dark haired boy wondered. These were his school mates and he assumed it was a rival gang from another high school they have been brawling with, and surely it was a matter worth bringing up to the administration. More importantly he'd been elected vice chairperson of his school last school year, and it's funny how his supposed responsibility presents itself right at the evening of the first day of classes.

_Runts… Why do they have to start a war so early in the school year?_ Malik's brows furrowed and his eyes remained narrowed, now because it was hard to resist the rain that poured a little harder. He began to search for his mobile phone in his pockets. _This is going to be tricky._ _Rauf and I have to discuss this right away_. He knew too well that gang wars were a messy business. These affairs bordered personal and administrative interests. Schools, especially those like Abstergo International High School, do not tolerate violence with its participants bearing their identity. On the other hand, Malik is not too much of a stuck up to the rules that he cannot empathize with these blockheads. He had enough experience with this thing to know these people did this from a personal perspective without any hints of school pride whatsoever. _The police should do the work of stopping this mess._ He continued to find the familiar bulge of his mobile phone against the fabric of his pants. _The police siren should be enough to disperse these idiots._ But he grimaced, realizing that he had probably lost his phone on his way here as well.

_So much for good intentions…_ Malik glanced at the buildings along the street in search for a payphone or something. The heavy rain was now upon them, obscuring figures that weren't reached by lamp posts. There were no pay phones in sight, and all commercial establishments had closed despite some signs still staying lit . It wasn't because of the time in the night–he was pretty sure he arrived at the scene at around eight and wasn't passed out that long. These gang wars were probably so common in this area that it cripples businesses in the vicinity. Storeowners must've accepted this fact willingly or not; surely, some of this morons had displayed their superiority in the past to prove a point and now the civilians submit to these situations.

Malik hated the fact that he'd been thinking too long over a matter. If he had to do something he had to do it quick lest he wanted more casualties, he reminded himself, noble intentions still intact. Now he gazed down at the bodies on the pavement and began searching for the strangers' phones, hoping that one of them kept their phones while fighting. He was about to bend down to search the nearest body below him, when a familiar feeling of someone nearing from behind shot up at him. Instinctively, he clenched his fists in preparation and managed to keep his balance as he spun around in spite of the still persisting headache. His fists were in front of him ready only for defense and as expected he was met by a figure of a man, equally drenched and was wearing the uniform of his school, clutching a metal pipe above his head with both hands. It was everything Malik had pictured given the situation; however, the man in all his striking stance was still for a few milliseconds while his eyes noticeably rolled to the back of his head before his body completely fell forward. Just right then a figure appeared to be standing behind the fallen opponent, the side of his hand stayed positioned at the level of the previous man's nape for a quick moment before he brought it back down to his side. Unlike the rest of his comrades, the newcomer wore a white hoodie over his uniform and seemed to be composed and unscathed for a person in a battle field. The dark haired teen straightened from his defensive position having realized that he had just been saved and stared at that face that was left uncovered by his coil. Luckily there was enough light that touched the bottom half of his face for Malik to notice a short scar running down across the right side of the latter's lips. The other boy, meanwhile, remained nonchalant from the looks of how his lips stayed in a straight line as he coolly placed his hands in his pockets. "Friend or foe, they'll head for anyone who tries to call the police." The hooded figure reminded Malik.

On the other hand, Malik glanced at the latter then to his fallen attacker, then back at his "savior"–he reluctantly admitted to himself. "He was one of yours." he replied, curiosity obvious in his tone. He had to look back at the uniform of the man now before his feet to make sure his confusion made sense. "I don't understand–"

"Keep your hands away from the innocent." The man cut him off, reciting more to himself than to Malik. He turned his head to face the ongoing war. "You should go."

"You need to call an ambulance." Malik insisted, inwardly proud of himself for keeping those noble intentions despite the fact that these gang wars give student councils and administrators alike months of headaches. Not to mention the calls that they're going to get from anxious parents . Parents. Hardest people to explain to and reason with especially those blinded by passionate worry for their children. And don't forget the work of patching up good publicity for the school. "I don't care who is at fault here. But you need to have them treated."

"I can handle it." Again, with all his coolness the latter replied, "GO!" he yelled at Malik for the last time before turning his back to him to join his allies in the remaining fight. Malik, not wanting to stay further in this mess, ran back to the direction where he came from. Past the alley was the convenience store from across the road and to his delight, it remained open. He saw a familiar stuffed paper bag and some canned goods scattered all over by the passage before finally exiting the alley and heading back inside the establishment. The owner was startled but didn't mind Malik picking up and dialing on his phone without permission as soon as he heard the teen spoke, "Yes I need an ambulance right away…"

* * *

It felt like it was his second time waking up with a headache, and a headache in the morning of the second day of the school year–with a list of responsibilities ahead, no less–was a bad start. Malik groaned at his body's morning greeting, one with milder, throbbing, but nonetheless annoying pain. The sunlight that peeked through the gap between his curtains and touched his face would've normally added to the irritation, but there wouldn't have been any other way he would wake up from a sleep riddled with mild fever. It was the second day of school and he'd take anything he can get to set a good example to the student body. He often told himself that like a mantra during the span of the school break up until this day where he would finally step in the school grounds not only as a mere part of the population.

He was vice chairperson of the student council now, he reminded himself and smiled as he sat up. It was a rough game, that election. It was his first time running for such a position and didn't realize he had imposed such standard last year that he was elected right away despite having been a transferee last year. Rauf was an immense help surely: the boy had many friends and was popular for being so approachable, and it was sensible giving him the top spot in the campaign. Rauf, the people person as chairperson, and Malik, the stoic, diligent, calculated, and responsible assistant… they'd make a good team, hopefully. He had high hopes for this year, his senior year. Normally, fourth years have to balance their focus: one was allotted for academics and the other for college admissions. But for people like Malik, he had to include in his interests the implementation of their and the headmaster's projects as well as the well-being of the student body. These were the growing topics of conversations of juniors last school year as they approached the end of the term. They would worry of standings, and grade averages especially with the fact the top universities actually check records and good character referrals by the headmaster. Along with those talks, many would remark Malik didn't need to worry about such matters, and instead universities would more likely shower him with scholarship pamphlets. Representatives would surely clamor before him as they always kept an eye out for the best students of the graduating batch, the other students would tell him. And his school mates had assumed that with his work ethics, being the vice chairperson after only a year in their school would be a breeze.

_A breeze?_ Malik shook his head lightly as he got up from his bed, not wanting to be tempted to lie back down again. The tiled floor felt cold under his feet as he walked towards the desk at the corner of his room, the familiar chill under his feet reminding him of last night. He had thought so to last year, as he signed at the bottom of a document which finalizes his candidacy. But now he regretted it a little having been greeted by a problem yesterday he and Rauf obviously overlooked. _Where did they come from anyway? _He wondered, checking the contents of his messenger bag that he left on top of the furniture. Everything he needed for the day was in there. _Maybe gangs weren't active last year. But Rauf must've known._

_Rauf is too friendly and considers personal interests of others too much sometimes. _He reasons with himself. _But the headmaster must've known. _Again, he counters to himself. _He's been headmaster for, what, ten years? Why didn't he tell us? _Now he was exiting the room, walking past the shower, and walking into the rest of his small apartment. It was a simple square layout with a couch, glass table and television that constituted the living room; and a stove, refrigerator, sink, necessary cupboards that made up the kitchen with an L-shaped counter with dish compartments that marked the space of the area. He had made his way to one of the cupboards, almost tripping over boxes scattered all over in the process, and pulled out a sachet of instant coffee and a mug. Once he'd gotten warm water from the nearby thermostat and mixed his morning coffee he turned around to face the rest of the living space, leaning his body against the counter behind him.

Besides the standard objects that came with renting this place, his apartment was currently filled with numerous boxes left on available floor spaces. Ah, there was so much in his hands besides snooping around gang-related violence. He moved in last school year carrying only the few necessary things he needed to survive since his transfer was quite abrupt. Ever since he felt he had more or less adjusted to his new living situation, he returned to his home in the province over the break to pick up and bring back more of his personal belongings here. Kadar almost blockaded his way to the bus station as he left, Malik remembered, grinning and shaking his head a little in amusement. He pictured the frame by frame scenario of how his little brother literally almost got himself run over when he stood in the way of the taxi that carried Malik and his stuff. There was one point when Malik was packing his things and whenever he went somewhere and returned to his boxes something will always go suspiciously missing. He knew his brother had been deliberately delaying him by having him search all over the house, with Kadar offering help and using the opportunity to chat with him as they searched together. How he missed that face full of wonder and questions, with those blue orbs searching for answers only in Malik's dark browns. Albeit against his will, Malik knew Kadar looked up to him–too much, he might add–more than anyone else. It worried the older Al-Sayf that this idolization bordered blind worship, which is why he needed to get away…

But that was another issue to linger on next time. One day at a time, Malik reminded himself.

Even with the reputation he was hell-bent on preserving, Malik wouldn't deny himself of admitting that he missed his brother so much. But in virtue of preserving a personal creed not to give away a part of his identity for certain reasons, he would not open as much on the topic to people. But this so called "reputation" of being serious and impenetrable had already done the work of keeping people out of their business. Except people who couldn't care less about the facade he puts up and has the balls to looks straight to his intimidating, sharp eyes. Like Rauf who is too friendly and always thinks good of people. And especially people like Shaun Hastings, people who are too much of a jerk and a know-it-all that their persona neutralizes Malik's daunting own. And of course, people like the stranger last night who was so cool and preoccupied with waging battles in public at the expense of the common people–although he did mention something about not harming the innocent. But he did save him, somehow. He sensed the incoming danger but he knew without that intervention from said man, no amount of defense would prepare him for a blow to the head by a steel pipe as his body will still have a trace of surprise had he turned around a second earlier.

Not that Malik enjoyed intimidation with vanity, he continued to muse, now while bathing. He probably was just used to that kind of reaction even when he wasn't intentionally commanding an aura of leadership. It was probably more of a relief to him that someone else besides Rauf and the brit wouldn't interact with him with fear. Still, that guy was like a stubborn stain in his memory. Arguably, the gang war can't be blamed on one man but that aura of arrogance–especially the obvious kind that seeps out during fights–was so irritating and familiar. The stranger reminded him of someone, someone in his past he hated more than anyone in the world.

–Anyway, more of this contemplation and he would be late for school. Set a good example, he kept reminding himself. He went out of the bathroom quickly with a towel wrapped around his midsection despite living alone. Years of living with a younger brother made it hard to get used to running around naked in his place, or maybe he didn't mind changing his ways assuming Kadar would live with him in the future. But again, he's almost running late. Malik entered his bed room and closed the door behind him before heading to the closet that was just across his bed. His soaked clothes from yesterday were still fixed upon hangers that were left clinging on the exposed handles of the furniture. The dark haired teen would normally be particular, but not too particular, with his things but this one he didn't bother hanging outside last night as he was tired and had a fever from the commotion. He opened the cabinet and took one from each set of clothes from an area dedicated for his uniforms and set them down on the bed before pulling off his towel from his body to dry his hair swiftly. After which he put on the gray pants, the black belt around it, white polo, black socks, his pair of black leather shoes he pulled from under his bed and then proceeded in front a body mirror beside the closet to wrap the crimson neck tie around his neck. He observed himself as he wore the black blazer that came with everything, tugging the ends to smoothen the creases.

Usually he wouldn't wear the blazer and keep his tie so neat and tight until the next few months when the cold winds would start to set in the city. But now he needed to make an impression–a good example. An example a vice chairperson must give, he cleared to himself as he stared at the school insignia stitched on the upper left portion of the blazer: a silver white triangle formed by three thick lines with three protruding ends. From gazing at the design on his blazer his eyes traveled up, finally resting on his face. It had just been two years into this new life and to the older Al-Sayf he seemed to have changed so much even physically. He pictured scars and bruises that were once in his tanned complexion. He kept that hawk-like gaze matched with a sharp nose that completed his distinct features and probably contributed to his character. He didn't bother to change his hairstyle before transferring only because he gave it little importance. However, just as his mother mentioned, it suited him. Those short, dark, and slightly wavy strands was a nice complement to his sharp features, she said. And although he didn't mind it that much he stuck to that advise for the sake of being content. It seemed Malik gave too much importance to this day, given that it was already the second day of classes. But then yesterday the student council was locked the whole day in their office finalizing plans for the first semester and barely got out to be seen by anyone. Besides, first day of classes were always filled with ceremonies and general assemblies that the administration had to cancel all formal lectures for the whole day. So technically, today was the official first day for learning.

After one last ruffling of his wavy short hair, he took his dark olive messenger bag and left the room, then his apartment.

* * *

The entrance to the school was a long and wide road lined up with trees and benches. Students came in from the same direction, some on their bikes, some in pairs, groups, and then the single ones. Malik was among them who walked alone, hands in his pockets. He often took his time walking, feeling the morning breeze brush against his face. Sometimes it carried the smell of newly cut grass, or the aroma of girl's perfumes. There was the scent of a cologne that faintly passed by, and he confirmed the source by looking to his right–a female student with blonde hair tied in a high bun, clutching a few books around her chest. Women's uniforms closely resembled the male attire, only that they wore black skirt that hugged their waist and dangled down halfway down their thighs. The rest of their legs were covered in knee-high black or white socks, while some added variation by wearing full black stockings. The administration didn't have a tight grip over dress code as long as the main components were present: the tie, polo, pants or skirts, and leather shoes. Students were given the freedom to put a jacket, a sweater, or a hoodie over their top given that the blazers weren't enough protection during certain seasons of the year.

Malik's gaze upon the attractive blonde woman was cut off by a biker darting closely past him. These were the times he can't absent-mindedly stroll; some students tend to be too excited and maneuver their bikes carelessly while some cliques go over ecstatic and start running around, unintentionally hitting nearby people. It was also never hard to tell with this people who were freshmen and who were those from the upper levels. Freshmen tend to walk alone silently, taking in the view of every corner of the school with an expression ranging from amusement to being lost and scared. Also they were distinctively more scared of Malik compared to the higher batches who were quite used to his facade and learned to control their intimidation gradually. But, at the advice of Rauf, Malik broke a smile, albeit forced at times, to relieve the tension and to avoid having sovereignty out of pure terror. He was also human too, he wanted to remind everyone that by being lax once in a while. To his misfortune though, the amount of things to accomplish brings him back on edge and on watch of his actions. Being in his stature is hard enough when you have to watch others watching you while you watch others.

"Al-Sayf!" a group of male students waved as they passed by, jogging ahead of him. They were some of his previous classmates that knew when to be formal and casual around him. Malik waved back with a smile and continued on his musing. He did walk alone, but only at first. Any moment now he will be joined by someone surely…

"Ah, Malik." A familiar bespectacled brunette with his distinct british accent suddenly appeared beside him. "Hastings." He gave a nod. It was his customary greeting for Shaun. _Ah so it was Shaun for today, huh. _He pondered. It was either him, Rauf, a club representative, or a poor bloke catching up to him for academic-related help. They always materialize beside him, but at this point he really didn't bother to wonder how.

Shaun was known as the British genius, emphasis on the British because of that darn accent which made him sound more of an annoying know-it-all than he already was. Furthermore it was matched by that brown hair, that complexion that oozed pride of being a brit, or maybe everyone was just unnerved with every fiber of his physical entity. Since his transfer from London, Shaun became a trademark with those glasses and the way he never wears his blazers. Instead, the caucasian opts to loosely tuck his polo in and rolls his sleeves halfway up to his elbows. He wears a wristwatch around his left wrist which everyone assumes to be a product from his country for every inch of the man is a walking flag of Britain.

He is the top of their batch, and yet his efforts in burying himself in the library is half of Malik's to which Malik himself considered his talents as "natural". The council member slightly envies him, albeit denying it to himself, but equally respects the man. And is equally irked, of course, for Shaun has this character that earned him the title "Brit douchebag" alongside "genius". But nowadays, it increasingly becomes only douchebag, and Hastings knew of this repulsion. In fact, what vexed certain people more is that he accepts that he is an asshole, and the only reason he does not mind the judgment and backtalks is because he was–he emphasizes–a "smart asshole". On top of it all, he matches his remarks with an intolerable habit of being sarcastic which is lessened towards the Al-Sayf. Shaun undeniably enjoys crossing the line with people without lifting a finger by reading them behind those convenient glasses, but Malik proved to have an unmatched patience for him. Plus, Malik sometimes partakes in a sarcastic exchange or deals with the annoyance in his own efficient way: by ignoring the man–a trick he learned by having a relentlessly inquisitive younger brother. This technique, in fact, amuses the brit as no one has ever tried doing the same and instead gives in to the bait.

"I sent you text messages yesterday–long ones mind you–regarding my period piece for the theatre club's grand play," Shaun began, "Need I explain how much of a trouble it is to construct sentences with two fingers while staring at an inconveniently small screen–which I still question the reason for its innovation by the way–only for you leave no response. Even your sarcastic replies would have been much appreciated."

Malik kind of missed-hated the familiar lengthy explanations the brit gave. "Ah, my apologies Hastings. I lost my phone last night." He stared at particularly nothing for a moment upon remembering the paper bag he left in the alley yesterday. Maybe he should stop by the place and check if it's still there after classes. "As far as I can remember, it is Rauf who coordinates with the theatre club. But I'll leave word so you can tell him directly."

"I will forget that I described my thoughts in excruciatingly beautiful detail despite my aching fingers," Shaun sighed and glanced at him for a moment, "How did you manage to lose it anyway?"

"There was…" Malik paused, searching for words. He wasn't sure if he should mention the full detail to his companion. "… an unexpected commotion." He didn't want to add to his pile of work by trying to control a gossip. Not that the man didn't know how to keep secrets, he was just so nosy sometimes.

"A brawl?" the latter supplied. Malik hated the fact that Shaun can sometimes read him like a book despite any efforts he made to conceal his reactions. "I knew you were the type who would get into that sort of business."

"No I'm not." The dark haired teen countered, almost too early for his liking not to sound defensive. Although there was certainly defense in that tone. He hoped Shaun didn't notice, or if he did, he hoped he wouldn't linger on it. "Anyway, got to go. Long day ahead." He proceeded to increase his pace, not bothering to imagine Shaun's expression he exudes to let the other person know he had discovered something about them. What was more irritating? Shaun would keep that discovery to himself and enjoyed how certain people got mad worrying what it could've been.

Again, he ignored the brit. It was the most effective counter anyway despite the fact that the latter had managed to learn how to reappear in his thoughts again. _Damn you Hastings._ Damn him and their weird friendship.

* * *

Corridors were usually crowded and noisy, especially that students often went out to visit a different classroom to call on previous classmates. Some who stayed outside of the rooms were shy freshmen who preferred their teacher picking their seats for them, while cliques of men lingered to check on groups of women. Malik knew best than to urge people to return to their designated areas especially during the first official day of formal lectures; the school bell will do the job of dealing with them. He was glad for the familiar sight of acquaintances and those who took time to greet him. Even strangers gave him a nodding recognition, and he had to consciously soften his expression to reciprocate the greeting of certain shy women, heeding the advice of the brit douchebag.

_"Stop trying to scare away women." _He remembered Shaun saying as they walked down the corridor some time last year. _"The amount of women with a desire to reproduce with you is way above the average number of women with the desire for almost any other male student in this school. You're supposed to be doing the opposite of casting them away."_

_"That's probably the nicest thing you said about me. Thanks." _Was his reply. And from then on he kept a mental note.

By the time he reached his floor, his face muscles were tired and perhaps one more attempt to fake a smile and he would've produced a maniacal grin. Thankfully the fourth year corridor was the least populated given that almost anyone knew everyone and were satisfied in the presence of their colleagues in the room. The absence of so many people exposed the white floors and walls of the hallway, with beige colored classroom sliding doors providing the only contrast amid the seemingly hospital inspired building. However, the big windows that lined up the passage made up for the lack of variety as it provided a good view of the school entrance and its magnificent row of trees. The hospital resemblance made sense though, with Abstergo International High School being established by one of the top pharmaceutical companies of the world: Abstergo Industries. Hence, they bore their insignia–the famous triangle–and also inherited one of the best science and math curriculums in the world. Strangely, the company had expressed its interest in history as of late, leading to Shaun's inevitable scholarship as the brit had told him once. Hastings was an all around genius, except in sports–a fair trade in Malik's opinion–but was even more of a smartass in everything history-related.

_"It's a hobby you see," _He recalled the man explaining, _"I like to see myself as Herodotus. Or Homer. See, there's a reason that only an in depth universal conspiracy can explain why my last name is Hastings. H. History. Herodotus. Homer." _

_"Hades." _Malik interrupted, smirking. Shaun pointed his finger at him almost immediately, _"He's a bloody god nonetheless, and I'll take him."_ Then he can vividly remember the man almost looking dreamily at the distance, _"And who knows? Abstergo, with all their technological advancements in neuroscience and genetics, might–MIGHT–develop a way for us to relive our ancestor's memories." _And then there was definitely a smile across his face, a kind that isn't a smirk or arrogant for once. _"And maybe I can finally confirm that I am a descendant of a long line of great historians."_

So in a way, not only was Hastings a genius, a historian, and a douche. He had god-complex somehow. But no one can deny his skills, and who can blame the man for feeling such a way when he knew everything? Not even the great Malik whom many people look up to.

But enough of Shaun, Malik protested in his mind and was grateful he was reminded of the mystery man from yesterday when he caught glimpse of a random student wearing a hoodie. "I have a feeling that won't be our last meeting." he muttered, not caring that he mouthed his thoughts. Perhaps there was too much pondering early in the day that his mental notes were now exiting his mouth. Not wanting to delay himself from musing too much, he proceeded towards the room labeled 4-A and went through the sliding door that was left open. Just as he had finished acknowledging the presence of those who politely called out to him and choosing a seat by the window, the bell rang–for start of morning classes Malik assumed. The indication was supposed to be three sets of _ding dongs_ which were similarly used to signify recess and lunch breaks and resumption of classes after both, but this time it had rung four sets.

_Announcement._ The council leader, as well as the other students, looked up in anticipation at the speaker box stationed a few inches above their black board. The usual voice of a woman in her thirties–presumably the headmaster's secretary–began to address the announcement.

"Rauf Tazim. Malik Al-Sayf. The headmaster wishes to have an audience with you in his office right away. I repeat, Rauf and Malik Al-Sayf. You are being summoned to the headmaster's office right away. Please proceed right after this announcement. Your teachers have been noted to excuse you from your classes. Thank you."

Normally, a student being called in such fashion would earn unwanted glances and suspicion with the usual _you're in trouble _expression from their peers especially when the headmaster himself requested for your presence. It was quite known that the headmaster is almost invisible and is represented by the principal in most assemblies. Some people have not even been granted the privilege to see the top official of their school, hence being asked for usually meant bad things. But this was Rauf and Malik, the student council leaders and not some ordinary pupil throwing his life away in academics. If anything, these announcements only earned them eyes of wonder, wonder on what important task the headmaster might have for them. And also the unavoidable admiration that they would get to see the mystery head of the institution.

Malik stood from his seat and proceeded out of the classroom. He scanned the corridor for a familiar figure and as he expected, Rauf came out from 4-C bearing his usual beaming expression at the latter. "It's good to see you again brother!" Rauf placed an arm around Malik's shoulder as they both proceeded ahead to their destination. "I know we're together the whole day yesterday, but it seems we never talked about anything besides work."

"We have plenty of time together brother." Malik sincerely smiled back. "There's always time for catch up." It always felt warm being with Rauf. The guy was the perfect example of someone without any weight on his shoulders, and his lighthearted presence was infectious to almost everyone. Needless to say, Malik needed Rauf as he had the innate ability to calm anyone down even the impassable Malik. There were many times during the previous election that Malik had been too grave and worrisome about a dirty trick their opponents played to taint their image. The vice chairperson candidate swore he was almost on his way to their rivals when Rauf only had to place a hand down his shoulder with a soft smile on his face in a gesture that only meant _"Everything will be alright."_ After which, Rauf himself went to talk with members of the opposing team and a few days later, apologies were given. The guy was almost a miracle, a personified nirvana that cleansed everything it touched and it was almost as if a little more act of goodwill on his part and he will spontaneously grow wings, or glow in a reverent-like manner. Or so Malik's imagination dictated. But it seemed plausible with Rauf though, and his imagination wasn't probably far from what the others thought.

Malik momentarily glanced up at the latter's shaved head, "I didn't think yesterday was the last time I'm going to see your hair."

"Ah, this?" Rauf looked to the general direction of his head, "Well, I thought I needed to look more head strong now that I'm chairperson. My friends told me I needed to at least be feared enough to be obeyed diligently. But I guess you can fill that role for me brother." he chuckled.

Malik hadn't realized he'd been smiling the whole time he'd been with the council head, which was a challenging feat for others. The latter definitely looked younger in his almost shaved head, the remnants of his black mane tracing his hairline. Like Malik, Rauf also had middle eastern features. From his tanned skin to his accent, although the Al-Sayf's was thicker, to the contours of his nose. It was an international school, with a variety of races no doubt, but middle eastern students were considerably few in the institution. It was largely Rauf's doing, apart from Malik's aggressive and diligent character, that discrimination against them was infrequent since he'd garnered so many friends and admirers that the populace had assumed their "race" was just as likable as Rauf. Also, the latter's habit of calling Malik 'brother' had rubbed on him in a good way. During the course of time that they had been together, they developed an exclusive relationship, sharing not only the same ancestry, but also the same responsibilities and goal. And so, despite the fact that Malik was pretty close with Kadar, it felt natural to call Rauf his brother as well.

"So what was up with you during school break? Any girl friends yet?" his superior joked but knew Malik well enough to anticipate the answer.

"I was busy preparing myself for this year." the latter replied, inattentively hearing classes begin from behind closed doors along the corridor. He must've missed the bell because of the other's magnetic presence.

"Brother, you need to loosen up or else you'd die young. And I need you to survive this hellhole. Here." With his free hand, he searched in the pockets of his pants and took out a red rubber band. "Wear it on your wrist whenever you need to get an adamant task done." Malik accepted the item and wore it immediately. "What's it for?" He raised his wrist in front of him, wondering what was special with the elastic material.

"It's like an alternative to stress ball. Try to tangle and untangle your fingers in it, keeps your energy expended on something when you feel up against the wall."

"Ah. That's a good idea." Malik kept another mental note and brought his hand back down.

"We're here." Rauf removed his arm from the latter's shoulders and entered the office. Malik followed after, having a feeling he knows damn well why they've been summoned.

The two officers were greeted by a woman behind a disk who looked up from a pile of reports upon their arrival. She didn't bother to utter a word and motioned her head to the right, indicating the only office in that direction. Both men didn't waste time in lingering on the slight excitement of meeting the headmaster and headed for the brown door that had a gold plate with an engraved "Al Mualim".

_Al Mualim. _Malik repeated to himself, not wanting to embarrass himself by mispronouncing the superior's name. Rauf came in first and closed the door behind them as soon as Malik stepped in. While the chairperson had tried to manage the intimidation written all over his face upon seeing an elderly man behind a desk across the room, Malik's eye landed first on a hooded figure sitting on one of the three cushioned chairs prepared before the headmaster's desk.

"Ah finally." Al Mualim spoke, his voice evidently matching his age and an aura of wisdom. "Have a seat, Tazim, Al-Sayf."

Upon the recognition of their presence, the hooded man who sat with his back towards them turned to face the newcomers. Rauf stood rooted on the spot, unable to control the mixture of admiration and fear in the presence of the old man. Meanwhile, Malik was rooted on the spot for an entirely different reason. He glanced at that part of the face of the seated man that wasn't covered by his coil. And with enough light now, he can clearly see the faint scar that ran down across the right side of the boy's lips.

_To be continued  
_

* * *

I apologize for grammatical errors here and there. Also, Rauf apparently has no surname so I supplied "Tazim" instead for no significant reason.

Please review, and thank you for bearing with me :)


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